Well Played, Brother
by ArcReactor
Summary: A one-shot sequel to "It was an experiment" it is suggested that you read that beforehand inspired by Tadpole11 I thank you kindly . A young Mycroft accepts Sherlock's challenge to "beat that"...


**Well played, Brother**

Mycroft had been challenged and Mycroft never backed down from a challenge. Sherlock's "beat that" got him thinking about ways to strike back.

Mycroft was eleven. Eleven year olds don't get away with much. They should know right from wrong and they aren't able to pull the 'adorable card' any longer. But they were smarter than four year olds.

Sherlock's little stunt was a weak attempt and didn't cause too much of an uproar. Mycroft had a plan to put all the blame on Sherlock while he got away scot-free.

It was a month after Sherlock's little incident with the mentos. Mycroft had been plotting. He had this day planned out perfectly. Mother and father had gone out for a few hours, so Mycroft was told to keep an eye on Sherlock, but to leave him to his devices. Once their parent's car left the driveway, Mycroft put his plan into action.

* * *

The house – if you could call it that – that Mycroft and Sherlock lived in was beautiful. The Holmes family were rich, so the boys were tended to with butlers, nannies and the like - their parents did not skimp on anything. The house was decorated with intricate mouldings and large empty halls hid behind countless closed doors. Spectacular bedrooms with walk-in-wardrobes and unnecessarily large bathrooms lined the second floor; pristine carpets followed the halls and dark wooden panelling on the walls kept the eerie feel of past generations. The mansion was over a century old and was surrounded by large, lavish gardens. Mycroft always felt small and insignificant in the house, and since the brothers rarely played childish games, the house was nearly always coated with a thick silence. Mycroft used to dislike how large the house was and continuously got lost at night when he wanted to visit his parent's bed.

He had always been lonely until Sherlock came along. Mycroft didn't mind Sherlock. He never had the attention of his parents, so it was okay that his younger sibling was now consuming all of his parents time.

Once Sherlock began to talk and understand sentences, Mycroft had taken to teaching his younger brother the importance of deduction and remaining objective. He wanted Sherlock to be intelligent – to be the best.

Sherlock had picked it up very easily and soon there came about some _harmless _sibling rivalry. Both brothers enjoyed pranking – on an intelligent level – and thinking up way to evade getting into trouble by either blaming it on the other or flashing the sympathy card. The boys found it great fun and decided they need not have friends, as all other children were of lower intelligence and simply ignorant.

* * *

Mycroft casually walked upstairs to his brother's bedroom, informing the four year old of their parent's absence. Upon Sherlock gazing up from his microscope, (he had been analysing and sketching a strand of his hair) Mycroft flashed a smile and pulled two metal, rectangular trays from behind his back. Sherlock nodded vigorously and followed his brother out of the room.

This was not the first time they had slid down the stairs on trays, although last time ended badly with the breaking of Mycroft's arm. Their father had forbidden stair surfing after that. But since their parents had left, they both jumped at the opportunity to have a little fun without getting into trouble.

For the first half an hour, the boys ran around the house looking for the best stair case to set up base and for the other half hour, well, they spent that whizzing down each flight. As the task was exhausting and their stomachs yearned for food. So they settled for a plate full of sandwiches and soon after, the boys went back to their game, enjoying it thoroughly, as it annoyed the staff and got in their way.

Another hour or so had passed when Mycroft heard the faint sound of car tyres on gravel – his parents were arriving home. Quietly, he slipped upstairs after returning his tray, and Sherlock – blissfully unaware of anything happening – continued on with his enjoyment.

It was only when the two adults walked in the front door, did Sherlock realise that he was going to be in _big _trouble. But it was too late to stop the tray – there was no defying gravity. He slid down the stairs and halted immediately as he collided with his father.

_Oh boy, _did Sherlock get a mouthful. For Sherlock, the lecture seemed to go on and on. There was no stopping this man's train of thought. Each time Sherlock would open his mouth to put the blame on Mycroft, his father would simply continue on his rant, not letting his son speak a single syllable.

During this unrelenting speech, Mycroft had come downstairs showing signs of a shower and just waking from a slumber. By the end of the lecture, Sherlock's eyes were welling with tears and he was on the verge of breaking out into sobs that would earn sympathy points. He began to apologise over and over between the sobs and promising never to do it again. His mother, being the sympathetic one, forgave him and then sent him upstairs for his bath. All the while, Mycroft had planted himself on one of the lower steps, inwardly grinning like crazy, but giving Sherlock a very disappointed look.

He stood up once his parents left for their bedroom and smiled smugly at Sherlock. His younger sibling walked up to him, wiping away the tears clinging to his cheeks. Mycroft knelt down on one knee so his face was directly level with his brother's. He waited for a snide comment to escape the child's lips.

"Well played, brother." Sherlock growled, his eyes narrowing. Sherlock knew he had been defeated.

Mycroft only smiled in return and stood up, patting Sherlock's black curly hair in a patronising way, "I will always win, Sherly. You still have much to learn."

Turning towards the kitchen, Mycroft thought over his victory.

_Sherlock got in trouble. Check. He only got away with it by lowering himself to the standards of children with a much lower intellect. Check. And _I _get none of the blame. Check._

_I believe it to be time for some victory cake…_

* * *

A.N- Thanks for reading guys. Constructive criticism is welcomed with open arms. I will (soon) be posting my other fanfictions, but I am still trying to decide whether they should be one-shots or if I should continue them... Again, thanks for reading and supporting "unpublished stories from independent writers online".


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